The Little Things You Miss
by hunterbunter
Summary: Hermione Granger is living a blissful life three years after the war with her husband. Little does she know her reality is anything but real.
1. Waking Up All Alone

Disclaimer: If I were J.K. Rowling, I would be busy making money off of this.

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><p>It was the roar of the waves that brought Hermione Granger back to the moment it happened. The swell of the sea was in front of her, reminding her of her struggles, her pain, and most of all, the man she'd loved and lost.<p>

_Hermione lie in bed on a sweltering July morning, the sun beaming in through the crescent-shaped window. She could feel its rays warming her naked body, and smiled to herself. _

"_I'm glad you're awake," her husband said from in front of her, adjusting his tie in the mirror. "I've made breakfast." _

_Her eyes followed his to the tray on her nightstand, the aroma of coffee wafting into her nostrils. She looked back over to him, noticing his struggle with knotting his tie properly. She stood, her joints popping as she did so. "Here, let me." _

_As she finished putting the tie in place, she looked into his light eyes. They were still hungry, although they had been fed merely hours before. A naughty smirk crossed his features, and he pulled her close to him._

"_Now, don't go falling in love with someone else while I'm away," he whispered, his minty breath intoxicating her. _

"_Never," she promised and kissed him earnestly to prove herself. His fingers slipped down her back to her firm bottom before playfully spanking her. "No, darling. Not now. You have to leave for your trip." _

_He groaned and pulled away, his eyes still hungry, but his smile now sweet and gentle. "I love you." With a _pop_ he was gone, leaving Hermione feeling full. _

But now, the only reminder of her husband was his ring. It was the only token the Ministry officials could find after the incident.

_Hermione collapsed back into her bed, the smell of a night well spent still lingering in the white sheets. She replayed each caress in her mind, attempting to ignore the sharp pain in her chest as she was reminded that she was about to face a month without seeing her beloved. _

_She allowed herself one last inhale of her sweet skin, trying to store the scent to memory before bathing. As she stood once more to shower, something caught her eye. On the untouched tray, next to her complete breakfast, was a shiny silver box with a white bow on top. _

_Hermione opened the box slowly, hypnotized by its contents. There, in the box, was a diamond-encrusted brooch. She gasped as she placed the jeweled accessory into her palm. It's weight surprised her, and she estimated that it had to be about three karats. _

"_Incredible," she mouthed, breathless as the trinket caught a hint of sunlight and sent beams of lights around the room, creating a dazzling effect. She looked around, noticing a card still lie on the tray. _

_**My love,**_

_**I know that it is a bit excessive for your tastes, but I couldn't bear the thought of someone else wearing it upon their robes. Hermione, I miss you every moment when I'm not with you, and this little gift symbolizes how determined I am to return to you. When you place it into the sun, light shoots in all directions, similar to how I feel when you are near. I know, I sound completely mad, but I can't find any other way to show you. You have changed me so much in the past three years, and because of you I have found light inside of me where I only saw darkness. I remember when you came to me after the war, and coated me with the warmth I never thought I could ever earn. I don't deserve you, and I am reminded of that daily. I see it in your eyes, the reminder that I allowed you to face the harshest conditions that year, without so much as an apology or warning. Yet, you chose me, and for that I feel as though I could live forever. I love you more than I could ever say.**_

_**Yours Always,**_

_**Draco**_

The letter had become crumpled since the day it was written, smudges replacing words from where tears had fallen and small rips from being nervously fiddled with. It remained in Hermione's pocket, a constant reminder that Draco had loved her unconditionally.

After the war, his father had left him alone at Hogwarts, deeming him a disgrace for never completing the simple task of destroying Harry, Ron, and Hermione when given the opportunity in the Room of Requirement. His mother, Narcissa, objected to leaving Draco by himself, but her obedience to her husband waivered her devotion to her son. So while the Great Hall emptied and the dead were mourned and buried, he remained, transfixed by the notion that he was so easily forgotten. It was then that he allowed himself to cry.

Coincidently, Hermione had returned to the Great Hall in search of her time turner that had been discarded during battle. As she proceeded into the hall, she found Draco Malfoy alone and sobbing. Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation, or seeing so many people die, but she could not leave Draco to wallow in his sorrow. She found a coat nearby, and draped it over his shoulders before sitting with him and holding him as he cried.

From there, a new connection had been formed that neither party had understood. Regardless, their friendship moved slowly, beginning with casual drinks and progressing into formal dinners. During this time, Hermione and Ron had begun a romantic relationship of their own, but it was quickly demolished from the strain of their grievances.

Hermione was crushed, of course. Ron had been the only man she believed she could love. During the summer nights, they shared breathless kisses in the fields among the Burrow, but even still, Hermione was well aware that something had changed in Ron. His aggression had surfaced at the loss of his brother, and he often took his anger out upon walls, chairs, and other random objects that crossed his path during an episode. At first, Hermione tried to understand, and remained beside him to comfort his discontentment until she feared her own safety. On a blustery August night, upon hearing of Hermione's plans to return to Hogwarts, something inside him snapped.

If it weren't for Hermione's successful casting of the Immobulus charm, the entire cabinet of Mrs. Weasley's fine china would have been destroyed.

"_Why are you leaving me? Can't you see I'm a mess?" Ron sobbed as he fell to the floor among the broken dishes. _

"_Ronald, I'm sorry. But I need to go back to school. I feel as though this will be the only way to move on. Maybe going back would be good for you too-"_

"_Go back? How can I bloody well go back when my last memories of Fred are there? I can't ever go back to that place. There's nothing for me there anymore. Besides, George needs me to help with the shop. And I need you. Please, love, don't leave me. You can go to school later." Ron's pleading eyes almost convinced Hermione._

"_No, I can't. I'm sorry. But this is something I need to do. I'm doing this for my future."_

_Ron sighed heavily. "Then I guess we don't have a future anymore."_

It was Draco who comforted her, who joined her at Hogwarts that fall, and who captured her heart. It was inevitable, Hermione supposed. After everything she went through, only Draco truly understood her struggles. Returning to a place where death was so fresh in her mind only forced Hermione to mature further. Rather than spending late nights drinking Firewhisky like many of her classmates, Hermione spent more hours than necessary in the library, reading books about topics that refused to allow her to think about Ron.

One night, while she was nose-deep in _Thirty Five Thousand Deadly Flora_, she stumbled across an annotated passage. However, it wasn't filled with useful notes. Instead, in the upper right-hand corner was a scribbled heart with the caption "RW Loves HG" inscribed. Instantly, Hermione recognized the messy script, and her heart sank. She then remembered a Herbology assignment from fifth year where Ron was to highlight the health risks of Thorned Bloodseed, a flower whose thorns dug under the skin when immediately touched.

She had chastised Ron for vandalizing school property. Little did she know he was expressing his affection toward her.

That's when Hermione had broken down for the first time after her breakup. Face down in the old book; she was unaware of the boy watching her from afar. Yet, when he touched her shoulder, she knew it was Draco, and allowed herself to cry in his arms.

A year later, they were married, and that was the greatest secret they shared.

But tragedy hit two years, two months, one week, four days, and seventeen minutes later when Hermione was summoned to the Ministry to identify the wedding band of Draco Malfoy. Reportedly, during his trip, a terrible accident had occurred. His wand had miscast a charm and he disappeared forever.

The numbing didn't cease for Hermione. It had been three weeks since the incident when she walked along the beach, feeling the cool sand beneath her feet in the moonlight. While no one had understood her relationship with Draco, she had really learned to love him over the course of three years. Thoughts of Ron completely escaped her, and what was once a painful stab had turned into a soft whisper in her chest. To imagine her life without her partner was unbearable.

She still smelled him when she walked into their flat, and still felt his touch when the sun shone on her skin. Simple things reminded her of him, and it was tearing her apart.

She continued to walk along the silver-lined shore, wishing desperately for those steel eyes to look into hers one more time, and the platinum blonde locks to graze her skin when he kissed her. She only paused for a moment when she heard a cry in the distance.

"Hermione?" She recognized that voice at once, and suddenly all numbing effects of grief were ripped away as a sharp pain returned to her chest.

"Ron?"

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><p>AN: If anyone has any complaints, concerns, suggestions, or corrections, don't hesitate to let me know. It's been forever since I've written, but it feels so good to get back in the swing of things!


	2. Say Goodbye to Love

A/N: I thank you all so much for your criticism. While many comments were a bit harsh, I still intend to write this story exactly as I planned. Many readers chose to quit before understanding what exactly the plot contained. However, we all have a choice for what we want to read, and I completely respect that. Now, enough of my chitchat and on to the good stuff!

Ronald Weasley stood before Hermione, mouth agape and his red locks brushing into his eyes. He looked exactly as he had three years previous. It seemed as though time had aged Hermione, yet not him.

For Hermione, this appearance of Ron was confusing. What was he doing there when, from what she last heard, he was married and raising a family of his own? Opening her mouth to ask this question, however, she was abruptly cut off by Ron, who was practically suffocating her in his embrace.

"What in the bloody fucking hell are you doing here? Hermione, I've been searching for ages to find you. Are you all right? You look a bit pale. Here, come sit down." His speech was a bit slurred from his rapid questioning, only puzzling Hermione further. He began to guide her to a log about ten meters away, but she resisted.

Ron's eyes met hers briefly. They seemed tired and hurt, almost like he hadn't slept in days, and if he did, they only consisted of nightmares. She knew those eyes well; in the past, she often studied them to gain an understanding of how he felt. These were the eyes that held that same gaze nearly four years ago after the death of his brother.

Yet, even as his gaze fixed past her only seconds later, instinctually Hermione knew something was wrong. Though she desired to know what, she refrained from asking, her every intention returning to asking the first question.

"What am _I _doing here? I could ask you the same, Ronald. Surely you know I live right over that hill there. _You_, however, are very off course from Cambridge. Tell me, have you come to further my pain? Have you not heard that my husband is dead? I don't want to hear of your wife or children. I don't want to hear of you, much less see you. Can't you please just leave?" A wave of emotion crossed her at that moment, resulting in muffled speech and a flood of tears.

She could feel his hard stare on her as she wept, praying that it would leave. However, it remained, awaiting the opportune moment for Ron to speak.

"What are you on about? Honestly, I'm not-"

"Shut it! I'm not mad. You've come to make me better, haven't you? To ease my pain, remind me that I am still young and have so much to look forward to. My fucking husband is dead, Ron. The only one who could make me happy after you abandoned me is gone forever. The only reminder I have of Draco is his ring and his last letter he wrote me. You don't understand how hard that is to move on from." The waves on the shore rushed in sharper, thrashing at the sand with a newfound ferocity. On the horizon, a thick layer of dark clouds threatened the sky.

"What does Draco Malfoy have to do with anything? Seriously, Hermione, I have absolutely no idea as to what you are talking about. I never abandoned you. I've been looking for you all this bloody time! Are you sure you didn't hit your head or something? Come on; let's get you back to the Burrow. That storm is going to hit soon, and I honestly don't think you should be outside in your condition-"

"What condition? Let go of me!" Hermione screamed as Ron threw her over his shoulders and prepared to Apparate. Something stopped him though, and instead of Apparating, he gently put Hermione down and grabbed her face lightly. His rough hands felt like fire on her skin, igniting a pain deep within her chest that caused her nerves to scream.

His warm eyes were focused into hers once more, brows furrowed as he searched for something intently. "Fucking hell," he breathed, tears beginning to form in his eyes as he spoke, "what did that bloody ferret do to you?"

"I-"

"You said you lived over the hill; where?" There was an edge in Ron's voice, causing Hermione to flinch a bit and point in the direction of her house. Quickly, Ron easily flung her over his shoulders again and ran in the direction she pointed.

However, upon their arrival, Hermione fell into a state of shock. Before her _was_ the house she lived in, only it was no longer in it's beautiful state.

The windows were shattered and paint peeled down the walls of the structure. The garden she had so carefully planted was nonexistent; the house looked like no one had occupied it in decades.

"What-"

Once more Ron interrupted her. "Listen, I need you to stay here. I'm going to go figure out what the hell is going on. Please, Hermione. Stay here. I know you're confused and lost and hurt, just please, love, stay here." With a _pop_ he was gone, and she sat on the porch steps as the first clap of thunder sounded.

Adrenaline was flowing rigorously through her veins, causing goose bumps to form on Hermione's arms. The way Ron had been acting was so unusual. It was almost as if he had not even lived the past three years. Furthermore, Hermione's home was wrecked. It had been in perfect condition merely minutes before Ron had appeared. Was this some strange nightmare?

She reached her hands into her pocket, seeking the comfort of the note written by her beloved. Panic struck her as she found them both empty. Again, she reached with nothing as a result.

"That git stole my letter!" She growled to herself and jumped up. A heavy sheet of rain attacked her even under the safety of the overhang, and she entered the house.

_ It smelled of fresh paint and sea air, Hermione decided. This surprise from Draco was by far the best. Among the decadent meals and exquisite vacations she had been showered with, a home to Hermione always seemed to be of the highest importance. She had always wanted to live somewhere unrestricted. From a cramped neighborhood to the confined walls of Hogwarts, she had always felt as though she were trapped. The only other place that gave her the satisfaction of this freedom was the Burrow, and it was quite obvious that she would never return there again._

_ Yellow walls and a white staircase greeted her as she stepped in through the door. A small creak echoed through the home as she walked across the old floors, worn down by many years of sand and feet entering through the same door. _

_ "Do you like it?" Draco asked from behind her, his scent now mixing in with the warm air around her._

_ She could only nod, too taken by the sights and sounds around her. It was so light and fresh; something Draco never would have allowed. Suddenly, it struck her. This house was meant for her. He had sacrificed his dream home to supply hers. _

_ She turned to him and wrapped her arms around him, smiling. _

_ "Now, where's the bedroom?"_

A crack of thunder drew her from her reverie. Ron had returned and was sitting in an old leather chair across from her, studying her once more.

"What," she snapped, "do you have something to say?"

Ron's jaw was set askew, trying to control his temper.

"Yes," he said evenly. "I need you to come with me to the Burrow. Harry, Ginny, Mum, and the others are waiting to see you."

Sourness crept its way into her mouth. "No," she said bitterly, "I'm staying here."

"'Mione, please. This is serious. I think something may be wrong with you."

"I'm staying. I want nothing to do with those traitors. And don't you dare call me that!"

"Traitors? 'Mion-Hermione, they are your friends and family!"

"No. I don't have a family anymore. I don't what the bloody hell had gotten into you. You were there that day. And why did you take my letter, you bastard?"

"What day! Er- what day? Please, I'm trying to understand. And I don't have your letter, I promise."

"Like hell you don't! You have always envied his and my friendship. It makes too much sense for you to take it from me! And it was all because of you and that one fucking day, Ron, the day I left for Hogwarts. The day everything changed. Don't you remember? That was the day you decided to leave me. You, Harry, Ginny, Luna, your parents didn't want me to go back. You all begged me to stay. When I left, you told me I didn't belong with you anymore. 'We have no future'. That's what you said to me. How can you forget something like that?" She was sobbing again and positive that he could barely understand what she was saying.

It was at that moment Ronald Weasley realized that the unfathomable had happened to Hermione Granger: she no longer remembered who she was.


	3. Hold Your Head Up High

In the kitchen of his childhood home, Ron stood before his mother, shouting in a jumbled mess what he had just encountered. Hermione had been missing for three weeks and turned up in a place when he wasn't searching for her. While at first he believed she ran off to Australia immediately after the war to seek her parents, he was quite wrong. After three days of no word, he tracked down her parents, who still believed themselves to be without a daughter.

From there panic drove Ron's actions; he neither slept nor ate for the next two days. Harry wasn't much better off either. They prepared themselves for their expedition and left to search for their best friend. But there, right in front of his nose was Hermione pacing along the coastline.

"This is obviously some kind of dark magic if Malfoy's involved," Ron finished in a huff and glanced to his mother.

"Bring her back here immediately," Molly Weasley rushed and watched her son disapparate from her kitchen. She rushed to the massive creaky staircase and began to climb the steps. Harry, Ginny, and George were up there somewhere; she just needed to get a bit closer so they could hear her more properly.

"GEORGE HARRY GINNY QUICKLY IT'S HERMIONE!" Because of her nervousness, her speech slurred, each name being crushed together into one. Three pairs of feet rushed across the creaking floorboards and pounded down the flights of stairs. Harry arrived first.

"Where is she?" he asked as he glanced down the stairwell.

"Ron found her. He's trying to bring her back now. But, I'm afraid something is terribly wrong with her."

"Is she hurt? Mum, is she going to St. Mungo's?" Ginny chimed in, her fiery hair falling into her face upon her arrival onto the second floor landing.

"I don't know dear. He says she has quite a lot of memory loss-or rather gain. She remembers things that haven't happened. Ron says it has to do with Draco Malfoy-"

"WHAT! THAT BL-"

But Harry was cut off by a sound from downstairs: bickering.

"RONALD PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT! YOU COULD HAVE SPLINCHED ME!"

The three Weasley's and Harry scrambled down the stairs and into the living room. Ron had Hermione thrown over his shoulder; she was punching his back and squirming to get out of his grasp.

"Well it's a good thing I didn't then," he said as he plopped her onto the sofa. "I don't suppose you have any Ditany left."

She ignored his comment and stood up, looking around the familiar living room and kitchen before her eyes landed on the cluster of onlookers. How was it they managed to look the same over the last three years? Did they all take some special aging potion?

"Hermione," Harry said and approached her, trapping her in an embrace. "I'm so relieved you're alright."

"Bloody fighter, that one," Ron commented to his sister and rubbed the spot on his back where Hermione released her fury. " Should have known. She would have fought me even if Malfoy didn't brainwash her."

"What is this all about anyway?" Harry detached himself from the hug and walked over to Ron. "Brainwashing? What exactly is wrong with her?"

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here. You lot seem to have gone mad. I'm only here because I don't know how to get back home. I've been there for nearly three years and haven't had to leave it. Draco usually supplied me with all the food and necessities." As she spoke, Hermione's stomach let out an intense growl, to which she grasped her flat abdomen in her palms and sighed.

"Oh, silly girl, come, I'll fix you something to eat," Mrs. Weasley said cheerfully and sat Hermione at the table.

Ginny, Ron, Harry, and George sat down in the living room and continued their chat in hushed voices.

"Well mate, if her mind has been tampered with in some way, it definitely was Malfoy. I just don't get what he's playing at yet," George said, eying the petite girl cautiously. "Look at her. Clearly she hasn't eaten much lately."

"And it's complicated magic too. One spell wasn't enough to do that much damage. She believes that they were together?" Ginny added.

"She thinks they were married. She keeps looking at me funny too and mentioning that she hasn't seen me in almost four years." Ron gazed over to Hermione, who was politely chatting with Mrs. Weasley.

"That little piss pot ferret. When I get my hands on him-"

"Gin, worry about that later. How are we going to convince Hermione that this is all real?" Harry interjected.

"I dunno, but one thing's for sure. She is going to need help fast or she will permanently be as mad as a hatter," George mumbled.

Lying in Ginny's bed, Hermione lie awake, trying to organize her thoughts. It was beginning to seem more plausible that what she believed to have happened wasn't entirely accurate. But there had to be some truth in the matter, correct? Perhaps she wasn't gone for three years, but three weeks. The blissful time she had spent with Draco could have allowed her to lose track of the days she was gone.

But everything, the last year of Hogwarts, the marriage, their home by the sea, they all seemed so real. How couldn't it be real? She even had the ring to prove it. Or did she? Her eyes darted to the cot where Ginny breathed evenly and remained on her sleeping friend while she tiptoed across the room and picked up her clothes from the day, reaching into the pockets of her jean jacket; empty.

She did remember Ron insisting on her emptying her pockets upon reaching the Burrow. The remainder of her belongings, wand included, were only a few flights of stairs down. Glancing once more at Ginny to make sure she wasn't awake, Hermione slowly opened the bedroom door and crept into the hall.

She could hear the even breathing of the other Weasley's around her. In a creaky house as this, they were bound to have learned to sleep through its constant squeaks.

She padded down the stairs, stopping at each landing to assure that no one was awakened by her footsteps. As she maneuvered her way into the living room, she froze. Someone was asleep on the couch next to coffee table that held her belongings. A sudden snore echoed through the room, and the body shifted on the couch.

"Ron," Hermione mouthed to herself. She had come so far already. Was she really going to back off because her ex-boyfriend was sleeping on the couch in front of her? She was a Gryffindor; she needed to be fearless.

Carefully, she bent down, but her knees betrayed her and cracked. It sounded so loud, like a pile of rocks crashing to the hard ground. But Ron didn't even stir. She sighed a breath of relief. This _was_ Ron after all. The boy could sleep through a massive explosion. She quickly tugged her bag off the coffee table. Her wand clattered to the ground. Ron rolled over.

As she bent down to grab it, a large hand grasped hers. "You honestly thought I wouldn't wake up with all those bloody creaky stairs? I have six-five siblings. I had to learn to listen carefully so I wouldn't wake up with Fred and George's bogeys in my mouth. Going somewhere?" Ron's hot breath touched Hermione's neck, sending a wave of chills down to her fingertips. She dropped her wand.

"No, if you must know. I came downstairs to look for something in my bag." She yanked her hand away from Ron, who was still holding it, and stood.

"Like what…Malfoy's letter? I told you, Hermione, I have no idea what you're talking-"

"Shh, Ronald. You're going to wake the whole house up. I know you didn't take the letter, and I'm sorry for blaming you. I just need proof," she whispered and began to rummage through her bag. If she found the crumpled letter or brooch, maybe she could finally start putting the pieces together.

"Proof of what?"

"Ron, I'm not denying that something odd is going on. But I can't be entirely sure none of this happened until I rule out all the possibilities. I understand that I haven't been gone three years. Clearly the evidence is right in front of me. You still have bruises and marks from the war. I saw myself in the mirror today and noticed the same as well." She paused as she felt the familiar curves of the brooch. "However, this might allow you to believe otherwise that I'm mad."

She handed him the brooch, a smug look on her face. "Draco gave me that brooch right before he-disappeared. Along with the letter I still can't find. So you see, I know that _something_ happened and was real. This solidifies it. It's the only evidence I need!"

"Hermione, this isn't a brooch."

"Why, of course it is! Haven't you seen a brooch before?" She snatched it from his hand and looked down.

"See? It's not a brooch. You've been toting around a stone this whole time." Ron tried to comment delicately, but crassness seemed to invade his phrasing.

"Well, congratulations, Ron! You're right, I'm mad as a hatter. Might as well lock me away in St. Mungo's for the rest of my life and wash your hands of this-this barking girl!"

"Shh, Hermione. You're going to wake everyone up. Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound like such a tosser. You've obviously gone through a lot these past few weeks and I'm just trying to help is all." He grabbed her left hand and held it, his eyes locked onto hers.

She sighed and looked at her small hand, not intertwined with Ron's large, calloused one. Each finger seemed like they would fit at least two of hers. Her ring finger seemed to be the only one that fit perfectly with his. There was no ring, she realized, and dipped her head closer.

"What is it?" Ron asked, his eyebrows furled from opening his eyes wide.

"Well, I married Draco. Or so I thought. I can't find my engagement ring, or band," she breathed, squinting closely at her finger.

"Alright, but why are you squinting?" He chuckled.

"Oh, shut it. I'm looking for a mark or tan line to see if there ever was one."

"Hmm, let me take a look," Ron insisted and tugged her hand forward. His strength overpowered the girl though, and Hermione's knees gave and she fell across Ron's torso. "I dunno; it doesn't look like there's a line or anything. Er-sorry Hermione." He smelled so earthy and familiar. Whenever she came home from Hogwarts and opened her trunk, she found that this smell surrounded her. So much close contact with him and Harry created such a homey scent.

Her stomach dropped when she thought of how long she had gone without that smell. Three year-weeks. It was an impossibly long time to be away from it, she decided, wondering how she went summers without it before. Her parents often aided her in doing laundry at that time, and the smell was replaced with crisp laundry detergent. Mum always bought the lilac scented kind.

"Mum," she whispered aloud and nuzzled into Ron's shirt. Mum and Dad, who were safe, home from Australia. She rang them last Tuesday…unless she didn't. Her eyes shot open and she pressed herself off Ron. "Oh no!"

"What is it?" Ron asked. "Are you hurt?"

"Ron, no. I-I think I left my parents in Australia! Oh how could I do that to them?"

"Hermione, calm down. I went and got them when we were looking for you. They're fine, but bloody worried about you. You should probably see them tomorrow." He patted at his chest, hoping she would lie down over him again. She smelled brilliant. He wished that her scent would sink into his skin and never leave. He hoped she didn't notice him breathing it in as she strewed her body over his.

"Right. Well, I suppose I should go back upstairs then. Don't want Ginny to wake up and find me missing. That would _really_ wake the house." Hermione stretched, and glanced around the room.

"Yeah, yeah it would." Ron agreed and laughed lightly. "Goodnight, Hermione. Sweet dreams."

"You too," she replied and quickly turned and padded her way back up the stairs. "Sweet dreams," she whispered as she tucked herself into Ginny's bed.

A/N: So I am aware I fell off the face of the Earth for God knows how long. I finished up my senior year, spent my entire summer preparing for college and then just finished my first term up. I'm on holiday break right now, and I hope I can update some more before returning to school, but we'll see.


	4. Waiting to Die

A/N: Thanks so much for your reviews! I went back and noticed a bit of discontinuity between the first two chapters and the third. I'm sorry about that. I haven't written in so long I overlooked some of the details that were significant in the others. I'll try to tie those together in this chapter better. As always, thanks for reading, and feel free to comment!

Sitting at the Weasley's kitchen table the next morning, Hermione was uneasy. First, she was sitting in Fred's old seat, which caused her to feel like she was intruding. Second, she still had that inexplicable grudge toward the family. She knew that it wasn't right, a night's sleep allowed the reasoning she needed to know that they weren't traitors, but still those feelings lingered somewhere inside her that she couldn't extinguish. It was obvious Ron didn't sleep well on the couch; his eyes were puffy and he kept cracking his joints.

"So, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat, "what would you like to do today?"

"Er-" She didn't want to insult Mrs. Weasley by mentioning she was leaving, but knew that she had to go see her parents. "Well, I was going to go see my parents today but-"

"Nonsense, dear, that's perfectly fine. Why don't you two go with her," Mrs. Weasley interrupted, speaking now to Harry and Ron.

"Sure," Harry agreed and scooped a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

For some reason, stepping onto the porch of her home was more difficult than leaving. Truthfully, she was terrified of what she would find behind the white door in front of her.

"What's wrong Hermione?" Harry asked from behind her. She turned.

"I can't do this."

"What do you mean? They're your parents! Merlin's beard, you want to know what's in there? Two parents worried sick about their little girl and waiting for her to go through that door and be alright," Ron said harshly. His expression softened as he realized Hermione was crying.

"Nice, Ron. Why are you always the one to make her cry? Look, Hermione, we don't have to do this now. We can go back to the Burrow and you can ring them instead. Start slow, yeah?" Harry suggested gently.

"No, no, I'm fine. Ron's right, Harry. These are my parents, and if I wait any longer, I'll only worry them more." Hermione took a deep breath and opened the front door to her home, a familiar squeak echoing.

"Er-hello? Mum? Dad? It's Hermione."

A clatter came from upstairs and her father appeared at the top of the stairs, mouth agape. "Hermione! Oh love, I am so relieved. Honey, Hermione is home!"

Ron looked on, watching Hermione's eyes lighten, as she became a child again in her home.

After two hours of recounting the past year, Hermione began to realize something: the memories of the these three weeks had a different feeling to them than those of her year searching for Horcuxes.

Everything about them was more vivid, more colorful in her mind. She could remember entire days at a time: something she knew was unusual. Some days she couldn't even remember breakfast, so how could she remember every conversation that took place between she and Draco?

Unless they weren't real. The suspicion had been creeping up on her all morning and now it was starting to seem that none of what she believed to be real actually happened. But why, she wondered. Why would someone create these false memories and place them in her mind?

That question stuck with her through tea and supper, until she, Ron, and Harry were up in her room.

"I-what's wrong with me?" She asked simply, not knowing where to start.

"Nothing's _wrong_ with you, Hermione," Harry insisted. "You just, I dunno."

"You've been bewitched," Ron stated, eyes glued to the photo of he, Hermione and Harry on her night table. It didn't move, and he assumed it was because of Hermione's muggle family not knowing about her being a witch. "But that doesn't mean anything is wrong with you."

"How can you be sure? How do we know I'm not mental or something now?"

"Well, you've always been kind of mental," Ron chuckled before adding, "and brilliant, of course. But we're going to find out who did this to you and why. I mean, who does something like this and for what reason?"

"I was wondering that myself, really." Harry was standing now and looking out Hermione's bedroom window. "Do you think Malfoy had something to do with it?"

"I wouldn't doubt it. Although, I don't see why he would want to. The idea of him being with muggleborns would naturally make his stomach churn. Creating these fantastic memories and placing them into Hermione's head seem a bit barmy."

As Harry and Ron exchanged ideas, from plotting to disband the trio to trying to reincarnate Voldemort once more, their bantered continued while Hermione sat in silence, trying to recall anything that truly happened in the past three weeks.

She remembered grand feasts, where all sorts of sticky buns, biscuits, and sweets lined the table with outstanding centerpieces that looked as though they weighed more than she did. Had she even eaten outside of this reverie? What if something worse happened to her?

Her stomach turned sour. She didn't know what could have happened, and that terrified her. She looked down and eyed her figure, looking for any bruises or scrapes she didn't remember accounting for after the battle. She tested her joints and muscles, searching for any stiffness or pain.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, and sat down beside her.

"Harry, what if-what if something happened to me?" Her voice cracked as she tried to hold back tears.

"What d'you mean?"

She sighed, wishing that she didn't have to put the thought into words. "I mean, what if while I was in this…. trance, something, or someone decided to-"

"No, don't you dare say it," Ron interrupted, eyes burning with anger. "If that wanker did anything to you, I'm going to hunt him down and tear his tiny bollocks straight off." Each syllable was perfectly defined behind his gritted teeth.

"Hermione, do you have, er- reason to believe something has happened?" harry inquired, cupping her hand in his. He cast an annoyed glance to Ron, who was impatiently pacing across the floorboards.

"I don't know, really," she began. "I'm not sure what I'd feel if anything did. I suppose I have a few bruises, but nothing, um, downward feels different. But, it could have been weeks ago anything happened, and I don't remember my last menstruation cycle, so I can't be sure of anything else yet."

Ron's nervous pacing ceased, and he padded over to Hermione and awkwardly pulled her into a hug.

"We'll sort this out, I'm sure," he reassured her. "I'll make sure that bloody bastard gets what he deserves."

"Ron! We don't even know if it was even Draco yet!" Hermione lurched away from his hold.

"What do you mean? That sodding git has had it out for us since first year! What would make him change now?"

"Voldemort perhaps? You saw the look on his face after we saved him in the Room of Requirement. He obviously felt some kind of remorse for his past behavior."

"No, he was glad that we didn't let him burn a deserving death, but he certainly didn't feel any remorse. Hermione, I understand it's part of your, uh, charm to see the good in people, but honestly, Malfoy is plotting something by placing those memories into your head or putting some type of curse on you to make you bleeding fantasize about him. What _did_ you even fantasize about anyway?" Ron countered.

"That's none of your business," Hermione mumbled and stood up.

"Oh, so that's it, is it? You have some kind of feelings for that lousy git, don't you?" Ron's eyes were wide, his tone turning sharp at his accusation.

"Ron, let it go, mate. Don't you see that you're not helping?" Harry chimed in at Hermione's defense.

"I'm not helping? I'm trying to figure out what happened to my fucking girlfriend!"

That word stung in Hermione's chest as she remembered the intimate moment she and Ron had shared in the Room of Requirement. She blushed, embarrassed that all this time she had forgotten that the ginger haired boy in front of her wasn't merely her friend anymore. Guilt flooded through her. Of course Ron was jealous of Malfoy; he wasn't the one she shared intensity with during her trance, the person he possibly hated most was.

But she didn't feel the same about Ron as she did about the Draco she knew from her memories: the one who showered her with affection and love. Here Ron stood, the boy to whom she couldn't remember feeling _anything _for (or even _why_ she felt that way in the first place), and he was yelling and fussing over everything. How could she love someone like him when on the opposing side there stood someone so sophisticated?

It was simple; she couldn't.

When they returned to the Burrow, Ron refused to speak to her. Instead, he went straight to his room, telling his mother he wasn't hungry for dinner.

"Unusual," Molly commented, "I expected him to be famished. Maybe he's catching a bug."

"Maybe," Hermione mumbled and gazed out the kitchen window.

"Hermione," Harry said from behind her, "don't worry about Ron. He's being a bit of a git right now."

But Hermione couldn't help tears from welling up in her eyes. She followed Harry out into the garden and sniffled.

"I feel so rotten. It's not my fault that I have feelings for Draco."

"No, I know. Ron's just jealous. He was really worried about you. He barely slept, and when he did, he would wake up from nightmares about you."

"Not helping, Harry!" She snapped.

"Sorry. Look, I know it's going to take some getting used to, on all our parts. Something about you changed while you were gone, and it's not the Hermione that we all know. Not that you're bad or anything but-"

"Oh, shut up. I know I'm horrid. Everyone feels the need to walk on their tiptoes around me because they think I'm fragile. I hate it! I _want_ to be the old me! I just don't remember how. I want to remember how Ron made me feel. I want everything to be normal again!"

Harry chuckled and Hermione glared daggers at him. "Well, Hermione, it's not like anything that ever happened was _normal._" He chuckled again, causing a small smirk to form on Hermione's face.

"No, I suppose not. My point being, I want things to be the way they used to be. Not normal, but familiar." Her face grew solemn.

"Not knowing what happened to me while I was gone is terrifying me. I could have been hurt, or worse, hurt someone else. I could have killed someone, Harry! I just wish I remembered what happened? Even the worst of my suspicions can't be as bad as the reality." She began to cry again, and Harry cradled her in his arms.

"I know," he attemped.

"No, you don't. But I appreciate that you're trying." Her words were almost unrecognizable, as her face was now burrowed into his shoulder.

"Look, I know you said it wasn't our business, but Ron may be right about your erm, trance, you were put in. If we knew what you dreamt or whatever about, we might be able to put the pieces together and solve this puzzle."

Hermione sighed and pulled away, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her grey jumper. "I-I'm not sure."

"Please," Harry begged.

"Ok, well, I guess I should tell you about the last time I saw him."

"You've got to be taking the Mickey out of me, mate." Ron was sprawled out on his bed, Harry in the cot next to him as they lie later that evening. Harry shared Hermione's stories with him, and the last one, though only conveying the bare minimum, seemed to be the hardest for Ron to stomach.

"She-she had _sex_ with that ferret? Merlin's beard! That may be the most disturbing thing I have ever heard, and I've heard a lot of barmy things. I think I'm going to vomit. Oh Harry, what do I do?"

"But she didn't sleep with him, remember? She just has a graphic memory of everything that happened."

"Blimey Harry! I didn't need to know that! I don't _want _to know that!"

"Look, Ron, if you two are going to get through this so you can return to your little world of snogs and cuddles, then you're going to have to start being more supportive."

"How can I? Whenever I hear her mention Malfoy's name, something inside me ticks. I feel like I'm going to explode or something."

"Well, yeah, Ron, because you're jealous. But you need to see past that. Something is wrong with Hermione and the only way we're going to figure it out is by letting her feed us the information we need instead of trying to force it out of her."

"Fine, but if I have to hear one more bloody story about her knickers coming off for Malfoy, I'm surely going to vomit," Ron complained as he turned over in his bed.

_"I told you, no one can know about this," he said, backing her up to the edge of the landing. She could still feel sand still stuck to her feet from the day on the beach. "How dare you disobey my request?" He held his grip tight on her shoulders, imprinting his fingers on her skin. She looked into his eyes as they darted across her face analyzing her. His jaw was tight, and she could hear him grinding his teeth._

_ "Draco, please! I needed to tell them! I'm sorry. Please, let me go!" She was sobbing, the heels of her feet edging off the first step. _

_ His expression softened, and his grip became looser. Draco placed Hermione safely back on the landing and looked away, escaping down the stairs and out the front door._

Hermione awoke, sweating and with a frantic heartbeat. She stood and walked out of Ginny's room, noting that she had disappeared. She shuffled up a flight of stairs to the bathroom and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

Two large bruises in the shape of hands were fresh on her shoulders.


	5. A Coma Might Feel Better

A/N: I have been so unbelievably shocked and pleased with how many great reviews I've been given! Thank you everyone for sticking with this story and providing me fantastic feedback! I know that this story is confusing right now, but I promise, it will clear up. It's been a little thing of mine for me to answer past questions and add to the complexity with new ones as the story progresses. Also a big thanks goes to CharlieBelle, who created this fun concept poster for me. I have a link to it up on my profile if anyone wants to check it out. And if you're feeling crafty and want to make me others, I would love to see them! So, with that being said, please enjoy!

_Her eyes were smoldering, and she was well aware he'd noticed. She smoothed her hair out the way he liked just for the occasion, but was well aware that soon it would be tangled in his strong fingers and return to its messy state before the night was over. She didn't mind. It was a special night, and Hermione had more in store for him. Or, that's what she told him anyway._

_ "Please tell me you're not teasing me," he breathed unevenly, adjusting his straining member in his trousers and licking his lips in anticipation._

_ "I don't tease," she assured him, and placed herself seductively into his lap, her lace knickers and corset dragging across his uncomfortably hot suit, sometimes catching the fabric and pulling a little piece up before sinking back down onto his skin. And to think that it could feel any more arousing._

_ Her creamy lipstick seemed magnetic, clinging to his mouth, ears, and collarbone as if to claim that Hermione was dominant; this was her leaving a reminder of that._

_ Not if he had anything to say about that._

_ As she ground her groin into his harder, she let out an innocent whimper, giving him the opportune moment to claim dominance. He thrust upward, the hard tip of his cock pressing into her when their hips collided._

_ This time, Hermione moaned, and he knew while. The skimpy lace knickers she was wearing had rubbed just the right exposed spot between her legs. If her eyes were smoldering before, they were scorching now._

_ She ground back down, aching to feel the same sensation once more while tasting his tongue on hers. She was quite determined, and upon experiencing the feeling once more a low moan escaped from her mouth to his, eliciting one of his own._

_ He pulled away to look at her. Her barely-covered breasts were heaving and flushed, and her lipstick was smudged all over her mouth. His fingers traced the cream and black laces down her corset, feeling her body's shape before reaching her hips. He cocked an eyebrow at her before catching his fingers on the elastic of her knickers and began to tug south._

_ Slowly, her groomed curls of her mound became visible, and his mouth watered a little. He was going to taste her; she knew it._

_ As he pulled, he lightly brushed against her, feeling the dampness between her legs._

_ "Fuck, Hermione. You're going to kill me."_

_ "Not unless I die from anticipation first," she countered, trying to kick her kickers off her legs. "Now help me unlace this damn thing."_

_ She opened her legs farther so she could stand, giving him an eyeful of what he'd soon be indulging in. His cock twitched and he cleared his throat._

_ He obeyed when she turned around, her perfectly shaped ass begging to be touched. She heard him sigh before standing to unlace the corset excruciatingly slowly._

_ And then the corset was lying on the floor next to them, her bare back imprinted lightly from the tight ends of the fabric. She sighed when his tongue traced down her back, stopping right above the dip, where his teeth nibbled down her sides as he made his way around her body to her belly button. He slowly crept up, nipping lightly at her flesh until he made it to the valley between her breasts. She was watching him carefully as he lapped at the skin before pulling away and smiling up at her. She was blushing now, still a bit embarrassed at exposing her body to him this way. Lingerie never seemed to have been her forte. _

_ Then he surprised her by lightly biting her left breast. Hermione's initial gasp turned into a long moan as he began licking and sucking her nipples, ravishing her with his expert tongue._

_ But she hadn't forgotten that he was still fully clothed before her, because she tugged him off his knees and collapsed on hers, instructing him to remove his shirt as she did to his trousers._

_ Unlike him, she worked quickly, lust driving her need to remove all clothes, and remove them immediately. Soon, he was naked before her, and she licked her lips, ready to place them at the erect cock that was only inches in front of her. _

_ "No," he said as she reached for him._

_ "Why?" she asked innocently as he tugged her back to her feet._

_ "I'm going first," he said firmly, lightly tracing her thighs._

_ "No, I am," she argued back, grabbing his shaft firmly in her soft hands, making him groan softly._

_ "Hermione," he began to argue once more._

_ "Fine. Neither of us are going to about this," she decided. She tugged him down onto the bed and placed herself on top of him, her wet core hovering above his pulsing tip. In one swift motion, she thrust down, igniting both their centers in equal passion._

Ron awoke from this dream panting, his stiff member aching in his boxers. Although he had wished it were a reality, he couldn't be more satisfied. Sure, he's dreamed of Hermione sucking him off, or him devouring her loads of times, but this dream was different. One, it was the first dream since seeing Hermione again that didn't involve her being pounded into by Malfoy, and two, it was more intimate. This was the kind of sex he ached for: the build up slow, but the anticipation being relieved with one swift thrust.

But now, it seemed like that was the only time this was going to happen, in his dreams. He was well aware Hermione would want to wait a while after the war; she wasn't some slag. But still, there was that need that remained he couldn't satisfy alone. He couldn't push it, and he was more than willing to wait. He just wished that she were all right.

He knew she wasn't, and after dinner the night before, Mum and Dad, and even _Harry_ suggested they send her to St. Mungo's, but something inside Ron made him stand up and start shouting. The mere thought of Hermione being locked away made his veins want to burst.

He had to fix this. Even if it meant doing it on his own.

Sure, Harry and the others meant well, but it wasn't the people they loved being locked away in loony bins or forgetting how much they loved him.

The ache in his boxers reminded him of his dream again, and Ron allowed himself to drift into his fantasy world again, focusing heartily on the valley between those beautifully perky tits. One thing his fantasy didn't include: that bloody freckle that rested between them. He'd seen it many times, and he knew it was there. Over the past few years, he caught many peeks down Hermione's blouses. Usually the line of a nude bra or a tiny glimpse of color could last him for days. But never without the thought of that damn freckle. He didn't know why he loved it so much, but in a way, he felt closer to her. He was freckled from head to toe, but with Hermione, other than the tiny specks across her nose and cheeks, he never found any other freckle on her skin. Until he saw that one during the Horcrux hunt when she woke up and her shirt was askew.

He tried to be quick and quiet, so not to wake Harry. Once he reached his completion, he shot a gaze toward the cot where Harry surprisingly wasn't lying and pulled his hand out of the elastic in his boxes. If that git was sneaking out with his sister he was going to kill him. He reached around for some clothes to cover him, only coming up with a holey t-shirt and some baggy sweat pants.

Ron stalked out of his bedroom door and down to Ginny's room, cracking the door open. Sure enough, Ginny's bed was empty, and instead Hermione jolted up, breathing heavily.

"Ron?" she croaked, squinting in the darkness.

"Um, yeah?" he called back, frozen in place.

"What are you doing in here?"

"Well, uh, Harry was missing in his bed and I think he snuck off with Ginny downstairs or some place."

"Honestly, Ron. They're both old enough to be left alone for twenty minutes. They can take care of themselves."

"But that's my _sister _and-"

"But he's your _best friend_."

Ron sighed. Once again, logic won. He turned to leave, but Hermione stopped him.

"Am I going to have to go to St. Mungo's?" she asked gravely. She sat up in bed, and turned on the light on Ginny's nightstand. Her hair was frizzy as could be, and her clothes were disheveled. She looked as though she had been tossing and turning since she climbed into bed.

Ron felt that familiar desire rush down to his groin as he recalled his dream once more. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice him staring at her shoulders, which looked bruised in the light, and he suddenly wondered if those had been there before he saw her. It took him a moment to remember that she asked him a serious question. He sat on the empty cot.

"I dunno. I'm trying, Hermione, really. But everybody else-"

"I know. I overheard everything," she mumbled guiltily.

"Oh." Ron's ears became flushed. She heard him yelling about her not going. She heard him practically spill his feelings into the air. They hadn't gotten much past that one kiss and handholding yet. This made everything even more complicated.

"Thank you," she said, and stood, walking over to him.

_Fucking bollocks, _he thought to himself. _This is becoming extremely familiar to my dream. _Hermione stood before him in flannel pajamas pants and a tank top that was too small, as it creeped up on her hips and exposed a strip of flesh between it and her pants. She bent down and hugged him, sending a hit of disappointment through Ron. It was like nothing had ever bleeding happened between them in the first place.

As he began to pull away, Hermione leaned forward again, this time planting a small peck on his lips. Instinctively, Ron's hand touched her cheek, dragging her forward again and indulging in a deep, yearning kiss. Hermione didn't fight it, responding in earnest, clutching the back of Ron's neck and falling into his lap as his other strong arm clasped her lower back and squished her closer yet, so their bodies molded perfectly together.

Ron's hear beat frantically, and everything in his body stirred with lust. This time he didn't bother fighting it off. Everything was so alluring; the warmth of her skin against his, its softness, and how her lips felt incasing his. It was right, and he knew it.

But Hermione didn't. She didn't know if this was how everything was supposed to feel anymore. It was almost as if her body had been desensitized and was now merely reacting upon instinct. Everything was hot and intense. While she didn't regret it happening right then and there, she knew that she was forcing herself to do it. The only way to avoid going to St. Mungo's or hurting Ron further was to pretend to get better, even if she wasn't. She would have to push herself to kiss him and touch him, even if she didn't feel that sensation Draco gave her. The more time she had been given to muddle through the events that happened, the more she was able to recall.

There were certain details she knew were real, knew were false, and were entirely unsure about: the first thing being her time turner. Hermione knew very well that she returned it to McGonagall at the end of third year. So why did she remember looking for it after the war? She assumed that's when something happened to her. Either she was bewitched or was hit on the head with rubble, but this stint of amnesia had seriously messed with her memory and was becoming quite irritating.

No, she decided. Irritating was for when Ron chewed with his mouth open. This was beyond that. Unbearable. She knew she wouldn't be able to go on for much longer if things didn't start getting sorted out.

Which brought her back to where she was, lips swollen after snogging Ron, and sitting on his lap, feeling his arousal pressing into her. He looked absolutely bemused, but completely satisfied, almost like he just take his first drink after going days without water. Hermione felt her face go red and looked away as she climbed off him, a small cough escaping Ron. He sounded like he was covering up a groan or something, but she couldn't be sure.

"I'll keep fighting," Ron said after a moment, standing and stretching his arms. "I don't think you should be in St. Mungo's. Don't worry, Hermione. I'll help you sort this whole thing out." He tiptoed out of the room, and Hermione was satisfied to hear him squeaking the floorboards upstairs, obviously too dazed to remember a certain sister and best friend of his who were missing.

She was also surprised that Ron hadn't noticed the bruises that now occupied her torso. She expected he would have said something, anything about them, but instead, he was too busy snogging her. Hermione shut the light off, hoping that this time when she slept, she wouldn't wake up with new battle wounds.


End file.
